


Whisperings

by Sacrulen



Category: Fire Emblem: Seisen no Keifu | Fire Emblem: Genealogy of the Holy War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-07
Updated: 2018-10-07
Packaged: 2019-07-27 19:44:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16226030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sacrulen/pseuds/Sacrulen
Summary: The swirling thoughts of a dying man.





	Whisperings

Lewyn had always been quick to draw his tome, quick to strike and take out his foes. It might not have been something he took extreme pleasure in, but it was a necessary evil, and he had grown accustomed to the wrangled screams that men made when they had met their match. He wasn't so used to his own, or the feeling of being hit by a spell so powerful it knocked him off his feet. It was like a clap of thunder in a quiet rainstorm: so sudden and unexpected that the earth stopped turning, life stopped moving, until he hit the floor.  
   
_Is this it?_  
   
The words swam around his head, and rattled in his chest with every noisy breath he now took. His voice caught at the back of his throat, making him sound like he was gasping for every breath. It formed the background music to his rapid and panicked thoughts, as he tried to pull himself up, and failed. It was a steady beat as he turned himself painfully onto his stomach, and began to crawl along the floor. He dragged himself with one hand while the other tried to find the source of his bleeding. The pain was in his side, his clothing was wet and cold. His fingers gingerly probed the spot, and when they prodded flesh the pain was so intense that it was all he could do to supress a cry. It escaped from his throat anyway, a pathetic whimper.  
   
His vision was blurring, his thoughts more and more disjointed. The tiled floor stretched out before him almost unending, but he had to move, make his escape somehow even with this wound in his side. With each unsteady crawl, he covered at least three tiles. How many to the door? Three, six, nine, he counted them in his head to ground him as he slowly moved forward. How many to safety? How many to a church, with a priest to heal him? How many to Silessia? To Thove and his family? Erinys, pregnant with his child, had grabbed his hand and begged him to please, stay with me until the child is born at least. There were tears in her eyes. He had never seen her so upset, not even when her sister was shot out of the sky and fell so far to her death. Blood in the snow as red as the lips that had given him his first kiss, when he was just twelve. Fifteen, eighteen tiles now, and he struggled to remember the next number, his arm giving way and his chest hitting the cold ground with a dull thud.  
   
It was like the blood from his side had seeped its way into his head, bled into his mind and frayed the sides of every memory, drowning once coherent thoughts with Erinys asking him to bring her a drink, and he had mixed her some tea with honey and cinnamon and stole cakes from the kitchens. He laid them all out for her on the table, and gave her a bow, and she had laughed so gently and smiled so brightly as he gave her his hand and lead her to the chair awaiting her. The sound of her voice was music better than any drivel he had ever been able to sing, the awful songs he had tried to serenade her with. Even Ced had laughed in his crib, and babbled along as best he could.  
   
_He takes after his father, obviously._ He had joked, but now he would never know.  
   
How could he have left that? The shape of her body, he tried to remember. It was toned with every battle she had fought, but the sillhouette of her chest and the curve of her stomach and waist into her hips was hazy. The scar on her back, it was a slash of a sword, or so he thought. Her spear had killed so many, she had more blood on his hands than he did. If only he had been able to die by her hand instead, that he might see her face one last time.  
   
How much further to safety? His hand was shaking, trying to drag himself past three more tiles on the floor. He could barely see the room infront of him, everything was out of focus and distant, like peering through a dusty mirror and into another world he barely belonged to anymore. He tried to raise his head for a better view, and a cough exploded from his lips, spewing blood with it onto onto his hand infront of him. The splatter that reached his white sleeve would never come out, he thought. The maids at Thove would be beside themselves when he returns. They'd fuss over him like he was a boy again, and draw him a bath and lay out new clothes for him. All he had to do is crawl by three more tiles, and three more, and keep his eyes open and not think about the trail of blood he must have left. He had always found it hard to sleep alone. Erinys had always held him close. It made sneaking out at night to stare at the snow in the moonlight difficult without waking her. Their bed was always warm. She was warm. She was a gentle blanketing of lovingness around him as he held his son for the first time. And he was so very, very cold.  
   
There were footsteps infront of him, a shadow before him. In the murkiness of his mind, he had some hope that if he could just look up, just catch a glipse of their face, it might be her. Deep mutterings of a language he had once known, the shrill sheen of metal against metal, a quick whisper of a breeze, wind that had once caressed his hair and face and brought him such joy.  
   
_I still have so much I need to do!_

**Author's Note:**

> Heroes Lewyn made me sad and I gotta get it out of my system before I feel more sorry for him


End file.
